Wednesday, November 6th. 

Nine o'clock. The Court met pursuant to adjournment. The excitement has much increased. The court-room is crowded to its utmost capacity, and the most intense interest manifested as to the decision.

Mr. Andrews was called and sworn.

Mr. Curtiss. "Did you frequently see Hugh Fuller during his sickness?"

"I watched with him twice."

"Have you often watched with persons in this fever?"

"I have."

"How were their minds affected?"

"They were generally deranged."

"Did you witness any appearance of insanity in Mr. Fuller?"

"I did."

"How was it manifested?"

"He once imagined I was his mother, and that I was instructing him. Another time he thought he was building a house, and called out to his workmen about the work."

Before the cross examination, I noticed Mr. Willard speaking in a low voice to Mr. Marshall, when he took his hat and retired from the court-room.

Mr. Marshall. "Do you mean to convey the idea that Mr. Fuller was not rational during any part of the nights that you watched with him?"

"By no means, sir. I mean that he was a little out of his head."

"Did he recognize you?"

"He did, and often called me by name, and told me what medicine he was to take."

"When he thought you were his mother, what did he say?"

"He said he remembered my instructing him to tell the truth, and how much happier he should have been if he had regarded my instructions."

Mrs. Andrews was called.

Mr. Curtiss. "Did you see Mr. Fuller during his sickness?"

"I watched with him the night before he died."

"How did he appear at that time?"

"The first part of the night, he took me to be his wife, and talked with me about the children."

"Relate all you remember of his wanderings."

"He was very much excited and wanted to get out of bed and go to see Dr. Lenox—Said he must go, and we had great difficulty in pacifying him."

Cross examination.

Mr. Marshall. "Do you remember what he said to you about the children?"

"He charged me never to let the girls marry a man who had perjured himself."

This reply produced great sensation, and the sheriff again thundered "order! ORDER!!"

"Did he appear more calm toward morning?"

"Oh, no! He grew more and more excited until we promised to send for the Doctor."

"Did that wholly pacify him?"

"He seemed so relieved and rational that I staid alone with him while Mr. Hardy went for the Doctor, and he hardly spoke during his absence."

"How did he appear during that time?"

"He lay with his eyes closed, and once I thought I heard the words. 'Oh, God!—Oh, Jesus, forgive me!'"

Mr. Curtiss called Mr. Hardy. "Did you discover any signs of insanity in Mr. Fuller on the night preceding his death?"

"I did."

"What were they?"

"Substantially those already testified to by Mrs. Andrews. He called incessantly for the Doctor, saying he could not die till he had seen him."

Mr. Curtiss, under excitement, interrupted the witness, saying, "you need not repeat the testimony of other witnesses."

Cross-examination by Mr. Marshall. "Did he tell you why he wished to see the Doctor?"

"He said, he had something of great importance to confess to him, and he could not die with it upon his conscience."

"How did he appear when you returned with the Doctor?"

"Perfectly calm and rational."

"Who were then present?"

"Dr. Lenox, Mrs. Fuller, Mrs. Andrews, and myself."

"Relate what occurred."

"The Doctor went directly to the bed. When Mr. Fuller saw him, he said audibly, 'thank God!' He then added, that he had committed a great crime which he wished to confess before he died, and that it related to the last will of the late Joseph Lee. Dr. Lenox immediately requested me to go for the nearest magistrate. When I returned with Justice Wilson, the Doctor was praying with the sick man. Fuller's wife holding her husband and weeping, stood the other side of the bed with Mrs. Andrews. Prayer being closed, the Doctor informed Justice Wilson of the wish of Hugh Fuller to make a confession which it was important to take in a legal form. The Justice then took the sick man's confession in our presence in the form of an affidavit."

Mr. Balch was next called, and as he took the stand Mr. Willard, with a hasty and agitated step, returned to the court room and resumed his seat. Every eye was turned toward him, as he appeared to be under great excitement which he in vain endeavored to conceal. He hastily whispered to Mr. Marshall, who started in surprise, and seemed fully to participate in his feelings.

Mr. Curtiss to Mr. Balch. "Were you acquainted with Mr. Fuller?"

"Intimately; I lived next door to him, and we frequently worked together. I saw him almost daily before his death."

"Did you see him often during his sickness?"

"I was at his house every day to inquire after him, and I watched with him several nights."

"Did you discover signs of insanity in him?"

"I did."

"Relate to the court what you recollect of them."

"He frequently talked with me about business that he had no connection with, and about all sorts of things that he never talked about in health."

"When did you see him last?"

"On the day before his death."

"How did he then appear?"

"He was as wild as a hawk, and kept trying to get off the bed, and pulling the clothes."

"What did he talk about?"

"He spoke of houses, and farms, and cattle, and workmen, and all sorts of things, and run from one to another without any connection."

Here Mr. Curtis rose with an air of triumph and exultation and said, "Your Honor, unless the counsel for the prosecution wish to cross-examine this witness, we shall here close the direct testimony for the defence."

Mr. Willard, who had been sitting during the examination of the last witness, with his face concealed by a book, now rose and said, "Your Honor, and you, Gentlemen of the Jury, we shall waive the privilege of cross-examining the last witness for the defence, that we may hasten to introduce a few items of rebutting testimony at this stage of the trial."

This was said in so low a voice as scarcely to be heard, while he actually trembled with the effort to suppress his emotions. "For this purpose," he continued, "I recall Mrs. Martha Fuller."

Mr. Curtiss objects. "She has been already on the stand."

Mr. Willard. "Your Honor, I recall her to elicit new testimony, not known at that time."

Mrs. Fuller having presented herself, he asked leave of the court to inquire, if any one here present were acquainted with the hand writing of Oscar Colby, of Edward Stone, of Hugh Fuller, or of the late Joseph Lee.

Many voices responded to the call; a number of persons came forward, and having taken the oath, Mr. Willard advanced toward them, and slowly drawing out his large pocket-book, proceeded to take from thence two yellow and time-worn documents. He partially unfolded them, when each of the signatures were identified, with the exception of that of Edward Stone.

While this was going on the prisoners started suddenly from their seats, lawyers and reporters dropped their pens in their eagerness to witness what was to follow; even the counsellors for the defence seemed to hang in breathless suspense upon the issue of the moment.

Then unfolding the larger document, he said, "May it please your Honor, and you, Gentlemen of the Jury: The names of Oscar Colby, Edward Stone, and Hugh Fuller, here appear as witnesses to the last will and testament of the late Joseph Lee, bearing his characteristic signature, and seal, drawn up in the hand-writing of the said Oscar Colby, and bearing even date with the deed before referred to, to wit:—Crawford, October twenty-third, one thousand eight hundred and thirty-seven."

Here Joseph Lee in a frenzy of rage attempted to spring over his own box into that of his companion, and screamed out, as he met the iron railing, "Perjured wretch, you swore to me it was destroyed."

The sheriff rapped and thundered "order in court." Still he raved and swore like a maniac, and the sheriff could not control him.

Though he was heavily ironed, it required the full strength of several constables to keep him quiet.

Order being restored, Mr. Willard said, "I will here introduce two items of written testimony to rebut the charge of insanity against the author of the affidavit, the principal witness for the prosecution, and to confirm other testimony for the government already before the court. It was not known that these items existed, when we concluded the presentation of the case in behalf of the Commonwealth. I put in as written testimony, first, the last will and testament of Joseph Lee, deceased, which is as follows:

"'In the name of God, Amen. I, Joseph Lee Senior, of Crawford, in the County of ——, Commonwealth of Massachusetts, gentleman, being on my sick bed, and in the near prospect of death, but of sound and disposing mind and memory, do make and publish this my last will and testament, hereby revoking a former will made by me, and signed and sealed on the fifth day of August, one thousand eight hundred and thirty-five.

First. I hereby constitute and appoint my beloved son-in-law, Allen Mansfield, to be sole executor of this my last will, directing him to pay all my just debts and funeral charges out of my personal estate, as soon after my decease, as shall by him be found convenient.

Second. I give and bequeath to my beloved daughter, Lucy Lee Mansfield, all the real estate of which I may die possessed.

Third. I give and bequeath to my faithful steward, Jacob Strong, and to my faithful house-keeper, Susan Burns, each the sum of one thousand dollars.

Fourth. I also give and bequeath to each of my faithful servants, Samuel Dane, Sarah Brown, and Maria Keys, the sum of five hundred dollars.

Fifth. I give and bequeath the sum of ten thousand dollars as a fund to the Pastor, Rev. Asa Munroe, and Deacon Simon Crocker, and Deacon Josiah Hanscomb, of the first Congregational church in this place, to be held in trust by them and their successors in office forever, subject to the advice of said church. The annual income thereof is to be by them expended for the relief of the poor, and for objects of charity; a preference being always given among the poor to those impoverished by intemperance; and among objects of charity to those more immediately under their observation.

Sixth. I give and bequeath all the residue of my personal property to my son-in-law, Allen Mansfield, Frank Lenox and John Marshall, and their successors whom they shall appoint, to be by them held in trust, and at their discretion used for the support, and personal comfort of my son, Joseph Lee, and to his heirs after him; or in the event of his death without legitimate offspring, the same shall after his decease revert to my daughter Lucy Lee Mansfield, her heirs and assigns forever.

In testimony whereof, I, the said Joseph Lee, have to this my last will and testament, set my hand and seal, this twenty-third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-seven.

Joseph Lee. [L. S.] 

Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Joseph Lee, as and for his last will and testament, in the presence of us, who at his request, and in his presence, and in the presence of each other, have subscribed our names as witnesses hereto.

Oscar Colby,  
Edward Stone, 
Hugh Fuller.'"

After he had carefully folded the tattered document and replaced it in his pocket-book, Mr. Willard read the other item of documentary testimony, which proved to be this note of hand.

"For value received, I promise to pay Oscar Colby or order, five thousand dollars annually, on the first day of January, in each year, during the term of his natural life.

Signed, Joseph Lee." 

 Crawford, November 23, 1837.

On the back of this note were seven annual endorsements of five thousand dollars each; amounting to thirty-five thousand dollars.

Turning to the Judge, he then said, "May it please your Honor, and you, Gentlemen of the Jury, I am instructed by my colleague, the Attorney General, to submit the case in behalf of the Government without argument or comment. This we do from a conviction that after such disclosures, and this array of testimony, a closing argument would be not only a superfluity, but almost an insult to your understanding."

When he had resumed his seat, Mr. Burke for the defence arose, and said, "May it please your Honor, and you Gentlemen of the Jury, no persons can be taken by greater surprise at these remarkable disclosures, than the counsellors for the defence. And cordially concurring in the remarks of the learned counsel for the prosecution, we have concluded to follow his worthy example, and submit the case without argument, merely invoking for our clients as large a share of commiseration, as may consist with your sense of justice, and with the laws pertaining to their cause."

The Judge arose from the Bench, and in slow, and grave accents, commended the counsellors, both for the prosecution and the defence for the brief and direct manner in which they had mutually yielded the case to the court. "The same considerations," he added, "which have in their judgment superseded all demand for a closing argument, lead me, Gentlemen of the Jury, to feel that there can be no occasion for my giving you a prolonged charge. The nature of the crime for which the prisoners are arraigned and the penalties which it incurs, have been so properly and ably expounded to you by the counsellors as to supersede the necessity of additional comment thereon by the Bench. The trial has been protracted, and your minds must have been perplexed with doubts respecting the importance to be attached to the confession of Hugh Fuller until the introduction of the documentary testimony just submitted, which pours a flood of light upon the case, which of itself would seem sufficient to establish their guilt, and which, taken as a corroboration of the direct and circumstantial testimony previously before the court, amounts to an array of evidence seldom presented. If this evidence has convinced your judgment of the guilt of the prisoners, you will render your verdict accordingly."

The Jury retired, and after a few moments returned. The foreman arose and said, "We have made up our verdict."

By order of the court Joseph Lee was remanded to the prisoner's box to hear the verdict.

Clerk. "Do you find the prisoners guilty, or not guilty?"

Reply. "Guilty."

Judge. "The Court will postpone the proclamation of the sentence until the morning session."

The Court then adjourned till Thursday morning at nine o'clock, it being already past two o'clock, P. M.

Thursday Morning, November 7th. The court met pursuant to adjournment. At nine o'clock the sheriff and his attendants came into the Court, but without the prisoners. Great excitement was manifested. He communicated with the Judge, who exhibited strong emotion, and who, when the sheriff had opened the Court, announced the death by suicide of Joseph Lee, and the dangerous illness of Oscar Colby.

Monday, November 11th. 

So ended this horrible tragedy. I intended to have taken notes, but my all-absorbing interest in the trial prevented me. Indeed I forgot even my intention to do so. The night of Tuesday, I could not close my eyes in sleep; but lived over and over again the exciting scenes of the day, while the loathsome, purple face of Joseph and the haggard visage of his companion were ever before me.

My dear Lucy was seriously indisposed when we called for her, on our way to the trial, and was glad to remain at home. Allen too bore the marks of the excitement and suffering of the day before, and said he would not willingly go through another such day for all the property in Crawford. But he was destined to a far greater trial during the day on which he had entered.

I have copied from the daily papers a full account of the trial, merely adding to it from my own memory. But now I shall endeavor to explain some circumstances connected with it which have not yet been made public. You will remember that in the report of Wednesday morning, Mr. Willard abruptly left the court-room, after requesting Mr. Marshall to cross-examine the witnesses. The following statement he made to Allen Mansfield, the Doctor, myself and some others after the trial. I will relate it nearly in his own words.

"It would hardly be supposed," he said, "that I could sleep much at that stage of this exciting trial. I tossed from side to side during the night, and as I reviewed the testimony, came almost to the conclusion that the counsel for the defence would destroy the affidavit in the minds of the Jury and get the case. I thought, if I could only find the second will or some clue to it, this would relieve my embarrassment. I became so much excited by the new train of thought, that I arose from my bed, dressed, and commenced a vigorous walk across my room.

"Plan after plan for obtaining it or some trace of it was thought of and rejected. Morning dawned; and the duties of the day left me no time for farther speculation. But my midnight thoughts prepared me for what followed, and when I went into Court, a light dawned upon me. It was connected with a circumstance with which you are already acquainted; namely, with the anxiety which Colby had manifested to have his clothes brought to him in the jail.

"During the examination of one of the first witnesses, it suddenly occurred to me to inquire of the jailer whether he had ever mentioned any garment in particular. I left the court-room for that purpose, and was soon at the jail. I began cautiously by asking whether the prisoners had been rendered comfortable during their confinement. To this, the jailer replied, 'far more comfortable than they deserved. They are ungrateful rascals. Notwithstanding the pains I have taken with Joseph's meals, in consequence of the wishes of his brother Mansfield, yet he was always cursing and swearing in the most shocking manner.'"

"And how was it with Colby? I asked.

"I can't say that he did precisely the same. I've nothing to say against him except that he was always complaining of cold and sending for more clothes. I have sent twice, and I told him that I wouldn't be bothered with sending again; so I gave him a shawl to put over him.'

"Did he ever mention any particular garment which he wished?"

"'Yes indeed. It's vests he asks for. The first time, the man forgot about the vest, and brought an overcoat or something of that sort; but the next time he got one.'

"Well," said I, trembling with a mere suspicion that I had got a clue that might lead to the discovery. The jailer seeing me much interested, went on.

"'The very next day, he wanted another vest; and I refused downright to send again.'

"Did he specify any one in particular?"

"'Yes; he said he wanted a new checked satin one, hanging in his wardrobe.'

"I had heard enough; and bidding the jailer good morning, I stopped at the court-room only long enough to take a sheriff, and proceeded to Lee Hall. Without imparting my suspicions to my companion or to the keeper of the house, I merely told them that I wished once more to examine the room occupied by Mr. Colby; and notwithstanding the doubt of finding anything new, expressed by the keeper, I walked straight to the wardrobe, and took down every vest hanging there.

"After laying them upon the bed, I proceeded, (not very deliberately, I confess) to examine the pockets and to see if I could discover any inner pockets. But no, the keeper standing by said, as I laid one down after another, 'them are clothes has all undergone a thorough castigation, and there ha'n't nothing been found in 'em.'

"Hardly knowing why, I took up again the thick black satin vest, and walked to the window. My heart almost stopped beating, as I saw that a slit had been cut in the lining, and carefully sewed up again. Quick as lightning, I cut the thread, put in my fingers, drew out the very document of which I was in search, and the note of hand within it. I sprang full two feet from the floor, as I discovered the treasure, and my companions echoed and reechoed my shout of delight. I hastened to the court-room with my important rebutting testimony," said he with a smile, "and you know the result."

Allen Mansfield was so excited during this relation that he had to sit down two or three times, and then forgetting himself he started from his seat. When Mr. Willard had finished his remarkable story, he found that his circle of hearers had greatly increased since the commencement of his narrative. Not only Mr. Marshall, the Attorney General, the Counsellors for the defence, and a score of Reporters but the Judge from the bench had pressed around him to learn how so important a mystery had been revealed. He then received the warm congratulations of all his associates at the bar, for his success, and at the favorable termination of the suit.

Mr. Mansfield begged the Doctor and myself to communicate the result of the trial to Lucy. We did so, but found her suffering so severely from nervous excitement, that my husband judged it wiser to avoid particulars, and merely to inform her that the suit had resulted in her favor. A deep sigh, with the words, "Oh! my poor brother Joseph!" were all her reply.

It was now past three o'clock, and I hastened to my babies, and communicated the sad story to mother. In consequence of losing my sleep the previous night, I did not rise till quite late on Thursday morning. When I went below, a man was just leaving the hall; and as Frank shut the door after him, I heard him say, "Oh! how shocking!" He immediately prepared to go out.

"My dear husband," I said, "something dreadful has happened, I perceive by your looks. Don't be afraid to tell me. I fear Lucy"—

"No! No!!" said he, interrupting me, "I have heard nothing from her. Don't be alarmed. I shall soon be back."

He had been gone nearly an hour, when a messenger came in great haste for him to go to Mr. Mansfield's—Lucy was in a dreadful swoon. I ran down to inquire more particularly, and to direct him to go to the office for the Doctor, when he told me the horrid catastrophe. Joseph Lee had been found dead in his cell, having hung himself from a large hook driven into the wall and used to hang up a coat or a hat.

With mother's advice, I proceeded immediately to Mr. Mansfield's, where I found every thing in the utmost confusion. Servants were running to and fro; some crying, some trying to soothe others, while Emily and her sweet little brothers were the only ones who remained calm. I stopped a moment to speak to them in the nursery, when the dear girl said, "I'm trying to keep my brothers quiet, because mamma is very sick."

I hastened to their mother's chamber, where my husband was leaning over his patient, applying the most powerful restoratives, while her agitated husband and Mrs. Burns were putting stimulants to her hands and feet. Not a pulse throbbed—no sign of life appeared. The Doctor repeatedly held a small mirror before her face, but was unable to discover the least breath. But at length, with a deep sigh from her over-burdened heart, she very gradually recovered her consciousness.

All stood back from her view except her physician. Poor Allen, with tears streaming down his cheeks, dared not show himself. The sufferer was soon able to take a little camphor and water, and without letting her see me, I returned to the children. Summoning the nurse, I told her if she would dress her young charge, I would send for them to pass the day with my little ones; and not waiting for my husband, I returned home.

That was on Thursday morning, the time appointed by the Judge, for the prisoners to receive their sentence. When the jailer went to carry them their breakfast, he ascertained that one of them was beyond the reach of any earthly tribunal. He had rushed unbidden, into the presence of his great Judge. Hastening to the other cell, and almost fearing to enter, lest he should find him in a similar condition, he ascertained that he was raving incoherently from a fever, and hastily sent for the Doctor. His disease proved to be a violent congestion of the brain; and it still remains very doubtful whether he will recover.

A coroner's jury was called to sit on the body of Joseph, and rendered a verdict of death by suicide. The Doctor says he cannot see how he could have succeeded in his attempt. He had hooked his cloak around his neck, and then hung it upon the hook on the wall by one of the eyes which fastened it together. He had been dead some hours, and probably terminated his life soon after dark, though from the examination it appeared that he must have been a long time in the agonies of death. His face was almost black, and his hands tightly clenched. So died Joseph Lee! The vast wealth of which he had so unrighteously possessed himself, what now was that to him? It would only fill his soul with enduring agony and remorse.

Friday, November 22d. 

Emily Lenox Mansfield, with her twin brothers Charlie and Harry, have this morning left us to go home. I feel quite lonely without them. Emily is a most engaging child of six years of age. Her eyes filled with tears as she parted with Pauline, who has been extremely kind and obliging to her little visitors. I promised that she should soon spend a day with them, now that their mother is getting stronger. Mrs. Mansfield was very ill for several days after hearing of her brother's dreadful end. She recovered from one fainting fit only to fall into another. I think Frank became really alarmed at last; but she is now much better, and able to sit up two or three hours in a day.

She has never asked a question about the result of the trial, and is still unacquainted with the shocking detail. The Doctor fearing lest she should hear of it suddenly, told her yesterday of the death of Oscar Colby, which occurred night before last. My husband has visited him twice every day in his cell, hoping to find an opportunity, if his reason should return, to point him to his crucified Saviour. But alas! no such season presented itself. The poor man never appeared to be conscious, not even for a moment, after he was found so ill the day after the trial.

One fact will interest you much. The distillery is closed for ever. Mr. Mansfield intends to convert it into a large warehouse.

Lee Hall is undergoing repairs, and early in the spring, I suppose we shall lose our loved neighbors, who will go to the old homestead. Jacob Strong and Sarah Brown will go back with them. Mrs. Burns and Maria Keyes have always remained in the family. I believe I express the feelings of the whole community when I say, that I am delighted that such persons as Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield have come into the possession of so valuable an estate. I know, they feel themselves to be but stewards, and that they will hereafter be called to render an account of their stewardship.

CHAPTER XXXII.

Wednesday, October 15th, 1845. 

My dearly loved mother,—How can I express words of sympathy to you, when my heart is so full of grief on my own account, from such a loss as I can never experience but once, the loss of a father.

To lose a parent under any circumstances is a heavy affliction; but to lose such a father, and to be unable to administer to his comfort, by his sick bed; to receive and treasure the words of love and wisdom which fall from his lips,—to hear his last prayer, and receive his last blessing, is indeed a sorrow heavy to be borne. You, my dear my only surviving parent, have one source of comfort, which though it may at present aggravate the loss you have sustained, will yet be an unspeakable blessing to you; and that is in the precious memories of your dear husband. These remembrances of the past, how will you live in them after the first poignancy of your grief has abated; how greatly will they sustain you.

I can truly say, that not one unpleasant word, not one unholy expression comes up to disturb the hallowed remembrance of my dearly loved father. On the contrary, every hard feeling is softened, every unkind thought subdued, when I think of his meek, loving spirit, and recollect his words of love toward all mankind. "Dear, dear father! And shall I never see thee more? never more gaze into thy mild blue eyes, and see the looks of parental fondness beaming there—never more feel thy warm embrace, or hear thy gentle voice say, 'my daughter!'"

My dear mother, if anything earthly could alleviate a sorrow like mine, it is the hope, though yet faint, that I shall ere long look upon your dear face and from your own lips hear the answer to the many questions my heart yearns to ask. Do not disappoint me. Have I not a claim upon you for a few years? I can anticipate one objection you will feel in leaving the spot consecrated as the resting place of your beloved husband. But, dear mother, he is not there. He is with his Saviour, and the throne of grace is as near us in America as in England.

My dear Frank is almost as earnest in this request as I am, and will meet you in New York, if Isabel or Nelly will go with you to Liverpool and put you in charge of some one coming direct to that place. I long to show you my treasures. Pauline you will love as if she were your own; and Nelly's face is wreathed in smiles at the name of grand-mamma Gordon. Franky is a merry, joyous little fellow, who wins his way to every heart. He holds out his arms to any one who comes in, and never was the old adage, "love begets love," more true than in his case; for many persons who are not in the habit of noticing children, are so well pleased at the readiness with which the child concludes them to be friends, that they are never weary of praising him.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Tuesday, August 6th, 1850. 

We were rejoiced, dear mother, to hear of your safe arrival at home, and the hearty welcome you received from your children and grand-children.

With Isabel's four, and Nelly's two little ones, you really have quite a flock. I wish they could all be together once. I long to have my children acquainted with their English cousins.

Pauline is quite inclined to commence a correspondence with Isabel's Ernest. You were so much pleased with her perfect simplicity and artlessness of character, I will relate a little incident which occurred since you left. The Doctor and myself were invited to a small party at Mr. Mansfield's, and as has often occurred of late, Pauline was included in the invitation.

She met there quite a number of young ladies of her own age, as well as many older persons. In the course of the evening music was called for, and some of the young ladies were requested to play upon the piano or harp. Misses upon whom hundreds of dollars had been expended for instruction in music, and who had been daily practising for many years, now refused to gratify their parents, or friends, by an effort to play.

One young lady "couldn't think of it," and with a great affectation of modesty, "never could play if any one was by." This same young lady in the course of the evening, not only did play, after being sufficiently urged to do so, but laughed so loud that her rudeness arrested the attention of all present. Another young miss had a "very bad cold;" the cold however subsided after sufficient pleading to sing from a young gentleman near her.

But I was intending to speak of my simple-hearted Pauline. She appeared much astonished at the unwillingness to oblige, which these young girls manifested; and when one of the company said, "here is a young lady, who, I think, will give us some music," she very gracefully walked to the piano-forte, pleasantly saying, "I shall be very happy to oblige you." She played, by her own selection, some simple pieces which she accompanied with her sweet voice.

The lady was moved to tears, while the young people crowded around her, eagerly asking for more. She willingly complied, and played one piece after another as they were selected for her, and with such beauty of expression and even brilliancy in the execution, that I was not only delighted by her sweet manner, but proud of the success of my first pupil.

Mrs. Marshall sat near me, and said with tears in her eyes, "My dear Mrs. Lenox, you have a great treasure in that lovely girl," (and so indeed I have.) "I hope," she continued, "that the young ladies will endeavor to imitate so worthy an example."

Wednesday, August 7th. 

I have given the children a holiday, on account of the intense heat. I am richly repaid for all my care in the education of Pauline, by the aid she is to me in the care of her sister and brother.

Franky loves her as a teacher, even better than he does me. I fear, he sometimes imposes upon her good nature and her great love for him, by his inattention and restlessness during school-hours. But I really cannot blame them such a day as this, with the thermometer at ninety degrees in the shade.

There is a great deal of sickness in the town, and the Doctor has a number of cases of typhus fever. I think such cases have occurred every year about this season. He now realizes the benefit of so efficient a partner as he finds in Doctor Clapp, whose days of leisure have been long ago forgotten, or only remembered to be sighed for. He has removed to a pleasant residence down in town, and his good wife finds ample employment in the training of her numerous little flock, leaving her culinary department, in which she was so skilful, to the aid which her husband's abundant means enable him to provide.

Thursday, August 8th. 

The heat still continues unabated. I should be inclined to call myself sick, if it were not for my anxiety for the Doctor, who appears to me to be quite unwell, though he will not allow it to be anything of importance, but only the effect of riding in the heat. I do believe physicians make the very worst patients, and dread the taking of medicine more than any other class of persons.

Saturday, August 10th. 

We have had a most refreshing shower, which has cooled the heated air. But it does not appear to have revived my poor husband, who though still suffering from a most violent head-ache, yet persisted in going to visit a few of his sickest patients. I am really very anxious, and will set up my authority when he returns. We have long ago settled the vexed question of obedience; I am to obey him when he is well, and he is to obey me when he is sick.

Sabbath, August 11th. 

My authority was unnecessary. Dear Frank came home at noon, pale as a ghost, and went willingly to bed. I sent for Dr. Clapp without consulting him, and a powder which he administered has somewhat relieved the pain, so that he is now asleep, while I sit by him.

Monday, September 2d. 

Oh! how much of fear, anxiety and engrossing care has been crowded into the few days which have intervened since I wrote the above.

I have taken my pen, as I sit by the couch of my husband, to relieve my swelling heart. The night succeeding the first call of Dr. Clapp, Frank was perfectly wild with delirium. I was obliged to call Cæsar to help me keep him in bed. He did not know us, and supposed we were trying to keep him from getting home. Oh! how my heart ached, as he entreated to be allowed to go home, saying again and again, "my wife will be so anxious."

Sometimes for a minute, he seemed to recognize mother, and then would talk to her in the strangest manner, thinking her a patient or somebody else. Notwithstanding all the skill of his physician, the unceasing watchfulness of friends, or the action of medicine, my dear, dear husband rapidly grew worse. Indeed Dr. Clapp said, he must have had a settled fever for a week before he took his bed. Early on Monday morning, the twelfth ultimo, our kind Doctor sent to the city for Dr. J——, an eminent physician, to come to Crawford for a consultation.

He arrived by the next train of cars. I watched their looks, and hung upon their words, as if they had the power of life and death in their hands. I knew that Dr. Clapp considered my dear husband a very sick man; but oh! I did not realize till then, that there was hardly a hope of his recovery. Dr. J—— looked very grave, and when his brother physician in a low voice, pointed out some of the symptoms, he shook his head.

I went silently from the room; I could contain myself no longer. They soon retired to consult upon the case, after which I begged them to tell me exactly what they thought of their patient. Dr. Clapp turned hastily away, while Dr. J—— pressed my hand, saying, "My dear madam, we are all in the hands of God."

I almost gasped for breath, as I tried to say, "but you think he will live, oh! say that he will live."

The kind Doctor put his handkerchief to his eyes, as he answered, "while there is life, there is hope, but I ought not to deceive you."

"Oh!" said I, while weeping bitter tears, "I can't hear you say that I may not hope."

Dr. Clapp wrung my hand, and wept aloud, "I shall lose the best friend I ever had," said he, while I sank back almost fainting into a chair. Dr. J—— sat down by me, and tried to compose my feelings, saying that I should be ill myself, and that my dear husband had lived a useful life, and was prepared to enter upon his glorious inheritance; but every word cut deeper and deeper into my heart, convincing me that they had given up all hope. I pressed my hand to my head which seemed to be flying off, and rushed from the room. I flew to the farther end of the house, to a room the most remote from that where lay my sick, and as they thought, my dying husband. I threw myself upon the bed and wept aloud. My heart was in a dreadful state of rebellion against my Maker. The most awful thoughts came into my mind; but I drove them hence; "Why should I lose my husband? I do not wish to live without him. I cannot give him up," was the language of my unsubmissive heart. But all at once the thought of my horrible ingratitude to my heavenly Father, who had bestowed upon me such a companion, and who had allowed us to live together so many years, struck me dumb. I arose from my bed, threw myself upon my knees, and plead earnestly for pardon, and for a submissive spirit. I knew, I felt, I confessed that I had made an idol of my dear Frank, and I cried fervently for a spirit to say,

Long and severe was the struggle with my hard and undutiful feelings. But the answer came at length, and with tears which were no longer bitter, I arose and was enabled by divine grace to say, "The Lord gave and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord." I felt a sweet peace in giving him, whom I best loved to my Saviour, and it seemed but a very short time before I should go to him and dwell with him, where there would be no more sorrow, and no more parting, but where all tears would be wiped from our eyes.

When I went back to the sick room, however, and saw the pale, haggard countenance, the sunken eyes, and heard the labored breath, my heart sunk within me, as I realized that he would soon pass from my sight, without one parting word, one farewell kiss. As I stood gazing at him, the inspired passage occurred to me, "In whose hands our breath is, and whose are all our ways." I then remembered that God had power to restore the emaciated form before me, to new life and vigor. The thought that it might be his will to give my husband back to me, even from the borders of the grave, sent the warm blood throbbing through me. I again poured out my heart in prayer to God, not for myself, but for the life of my husband. I renewedly dedicated him to God. I cried out, "Oh! my heavenly Father, give me his life."

Dear mother also was besieging the throne of grace in his behalf. But he lay unconscious of the agonized hearts throbbing near him, anxiously watching every breath he drew.

Dr. Clapp was to be with him through Monday night. Mother besought me to try to sleep. I wondered if she thought I could ever sleep again? But I only shook my head. The crisis was rapidly approaching. I saw that not a sigh, or a groan escaped the notice of our kind physician; but I was calm. I even wondered at myself. A strong, but invisible arm was put round about me to strengthen me, and I leaned upon it to sustain my drooping spirit. The night passed slowly away, the morning began to dawn; not a word had been spoken for the past hour. Dr. Clapp sat with his fingers upon the wrist of his patient, where he could scarce feel the fluttering pulse. Ever and anon he would take the candle from the table, hold it before the face of the pale sufferer, and then silently shade it again.

At length he arose, and putting his fingers upon his lips, to enjoin perfect silence, he withdrew from the room. Nothing could be heard but the ticking of the watch and our own loud breathing. It seemed a long, long time that the Doctor was absent, and when he came in, I saw he had been weeping. In an agony of grief my very soul yearned for one more look, one more word of love. I hardly dared to uncover my face. When I did so, the Doctor was wetting his patient's lips with a sponge. Then he sat down again, with his fingers upon the pulse.

What had come over the man? I wiped my eyes to see clearer. His whole face was lit up with an expression, to which it had for many days been a stranger; but I dared not hope. Again and again the sponge was dipped in the cup and applied to the parched lips, and still we sat, as though we had no tongues, or knew not how to use them, when feeling that I could not breathe, I silently arose and left the room. The kind watcher followed, and leading me down stairs to the library, shut the door, and in a husky voice said, "My dear Mrs. Lenox, the crisis has passed, and your husband still lives."

I started from my chair. "Compose yourself, my dear lady," he continued. "There is hope that he may recover," and our sympathizing friend wept tears of joy.

But for me the reaction was too great. I felt myself falling to the floor. When I recovered Pauline was bathing my temples. Dr. Clapp had left the room and returned to his patient. I speedily recovered and followed him, and was softly stepping toward the bed where mother sat holding her beloved son by the hand. But the physician saw me and motioned me back. I withdrew into the hall, where he soon joined me, and leading me away from the door, said, "Your husband is now conscious, and will recognize you. Can you compose yourself? The least excitement may be fatal to him."

After a moment, in which I tried to hush the loud beating of my heart, and to breathe a prayer for strength, I said, "I think I can," and we again entered the room. I walked silently to the bed, and looked at my darling Frank. His eyes were closed and his face closely resembled death; but when he feebly opened his eyes, the light of reason beamed thence, and he knew me. I kissed his forehead and almost flew from the room. My heart was filled with the most delightful emotions of gratitude and joy, "and though my voice was silent, being stopped by the intenseness of what I felt, yet my soul sung within me and even leaped for joy." The emotion was so intense as to be nearly allied to pain. I pressed my hand to my heart to keep it from bursting. I heard a gentle step, and my sweet Pauline sat by my side, and drawing my head to her breast, sought to soothe my agitated feelings. She had been weeping. "Dear mamma," she whispered, "I am so happy, I have been trying to thank God for making dear father better."

"My love," said I, "will you thank our heavenly Father for me?" As we sat, she breathed out her heart to God like one who was used to going to him, as to a tender father. I pressed her to me and thanked God for so great a treasure.

Wednesday, September 4th. 

I was proceeding with my writing, the day before yesterday, supposing Frank to be asleep, when he put his hand upon mine, and said, "my love, you have wept quite enough."

While scarcely conscious of the fact, I had been continually wiping my eyes, to enable me to see the page. Many tears I see have fallen upon my paper.

"They are tears of gratitude," I replied, lifting his hand to my lips. "My heart is so full it overflows." There were answering tears in his eyes then; "Cora," said he with the utmost tenderness, "while I lay upon this bed, and in the near prospect of death, I saw that I had made idols of the dear ones God has given me; and I resolved, his grace strengthening me, that I would devote myself more entirely to him. We cannot love each other too much, my own wife; but let us love God more. While we love each other, and our dear children, let us not forget him, who so loved us as to die for us."

Tuesday, September 10th. 

My dear husband gains but slowly. He has not yet been able to have his bed made, but he says, he does not suffer except from weakness. After being absent from the room about an hour to give Nelly her music lesson, I returned and took Pauline's place by her father's side, requesting her to go out with the children for a walk.

He took up the book, she had turned down upon the bed, supposing I should continue the reading. "I hardly know," said he, "which to admire the more, the skill of the teacher, or the proficiency of the pupil. Pauline is a fine reader, and her voice is very musical."

"Yes," I answered, "I have often thought her voice low and melodious as the daughters of Italy."

"She may be one of them," he replied, closing his eyes. "Cora," he resumed after a short pause, "I have had time to think of a great many things since I lay here, and I feel that I have not dealt justly by our daughter, Pauline."

"Frank," said I, interrupting him, "you do yourself wrong."

"Hear me through," said he pleasantly. "I do not mean that I do not love her enough, for there is no difference in my feelings toward her, and her lively sister; or if any, my love is more deep and sacred to the child of our adoption; but if I should be taken away, she could not inherit a share of my property, as a child. If I ever rise from my bed, I will make a will, so that all my children shall share alike." I pleaded long and earnestly with him to allow me the privilege of making over to her my own property, which he had insisted upon settling upon me.

But he said "no," very decidedly, and when I was calm enough to hear, he explained his refusal to my satisfaction.

"Pauline has no idea that she is not of our blood, and I hope, she may never know it—unless"—said he, "but that is very unlikely"—and stopped.

"I know, you are thinking if we should ever discover her parents; but if we do, she is nothing to them as she is to us. They have never inquired for her."

"Softly," said Frank, with a smile, "I do not think there is any occasion for you to distress yourself; your imagination, I dare say, has already pictured her mother standing before you, ready to take her from your arms."

I laughed, "Yes," I answered, "pretty nearly that; but go on."

"If any such event should occur," said he, returning to the subject from which we had digressed, "a difference between her and them might call up feelings and explanations which would be unpleasant to all concerned."

I fully concurred in this view of the case, and then we discussed her lovely character, and heartily agreed that we had reaped a rich reward for our care of her, in the influence she exerted over her brother and sister.

"Frank obeys her," said I, "quite as readily as he does me, though she never exercises any authority over him. She has a charm, I believe; I don't know what I should do without her."

"I fear," said Frank, "you'll have to give her up some day."

"What for?" said I eagerly.

"Why somebody may come along and win her away."

"She is nothing but a child, only seventeen last June."

"And how many years older, and how much taller was my Cora, when I took her from her mother? You will never know how I loved you for taking the friendless child so closely to your heart. I had looked forward with the hope that God would bless our union, and give us children; but I had not thought of finding one so soon. I have often laughed to myself," he continued, "at the remark dear, good aunt Susy made about my being so impatient 'for a darter I had to pick one up in the streets, and give to you.' Good old soul! She hit pretty near the truth, certainly. Seldom has anything given me greater pleasure than when you taught the little creature to say 'Papa,' and you blushed so rosy too. I dared not say much; I feared you might grow weary of the care. I had not then learned all I have since. But when I saw you give up many pleasures to devote yourself to the little motherless child, and particularly when I witnessed year after year your care of her education, I have felt that you would have your reward."

Monday, September 23rd. 

Mother and I are now obliged to exert our authority. The Doctor is as hungry as a bear, and says he will not be kept on slops any longer. He spoke so much like a child begging for some cake, or bread and butter, that I had a hearty laugh at him. But though he could not keep from laughing in sympathy, yet he says, "it is a very serious matter; Dr. Clapp has been starving me for a month past, and now I intend to have something to eat."

Mother promised him a slice of toast for his dinner, and he asked half a dozen times in the course of an hour if it were not dinner time. At length I gave him the watch that he might see for himself. When Pauline brought the toast and tea, he entered upon the discussion of them with such a grave face, as if it were of such solemn importance, that Pauline and I had enough to do to keep from laughing aloud, which in the present state of his nerves would never do.

Mother says, "it's always a good sign when children are worrysome."

But the Doctor did not take this speech at all well, and said with a grieved look, "I was not aware I had given occasion for such a remark."

Wednesday, September 25th. 

We have had war in the camp. But I must explain. I noticed this morning that Phebe was cooking something very savory, but thought no more of it. Mother, Pauline, or I, have always remained with the Doctor while the others are at dinner.

To-day I thought I would remain; but Frank would not consent. Pauline said, "No, mamma, I'll attend to father," at the same time I saw that she was very much flushed and looked really distressed. Frank insisted she should remain, and I went below, wondering not a little at the meaning of all this. After I had carved for the others, I thought so much of Pauline's looks, that I excused myself a moment, and ran softly back to the room.

Judge then of my amazement when I beheld Phebe standing before her master holding a bowl, while the Doctor was putting spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, as fast as he could. Pauline stood by looking as if she were not sure whether to laugh or to cry.

I sprang forward to take the bowl; but quicker than thought, Phebe had caught it under her apron, hoping I had not seen it, while the Doctor looked like a whipped dog. The whole affair was so ludicrous, that it was with the utmost difficulty, I could keep my countenance. But endeavoring to look very stern, I said, "Dr. Frank Lenox, you will please to tell me what you have been eating?" He had already eaten a hearty dinner for a sick man, not half an hour before.

There was no reply.

"Well then," said I, "there is no help for it. I must give you a dose of castor oil." I proceeded toward the closet, as if I were intending to administer it to him at once, while I was thankful for an opportunity to relax my stern countenance.

"Cora," cried the Doctor, "don't give me any." His voice was feeble, and I could carry the joke no farther.

"Well; then, what can I do?" I asked, returning to him. "Phebe, do you know that what you were giving your master may cause his death?"

Pauline began to cry, "Oh, mamma, I was afraid I was not doing right, but father so longed for some chicken broth."

"Laws missus!" said Phebe, uncovering the bowl, "'tan't got no strength to it. 'Pears like he's powerful hungry. I 'clare your ole Phebe be de last one make the broth too strong for sick mass'r."

I tasted the broth and finding it really weak, I hoped my hungry patient had sustained no real injury. The Doctor put out his hand to Pauline, and in a most child-like tone said, "I was the only one to blame, dear child."

She kissed him, and I motioned her to go below. Frank looked as if he thought he deserved a punishment, and expected to receive it; but some how I never could punish a child who appeared sorry, and just so I felt in this case; and therefore I merely said, "I will help you to lie down, and will read to you. My dear husband," I said, when I rose to go below for my dinner, "if the broth does not injure you, I will ask Dr. Clapp to let you have a dinner of it to-morrow."

He looked his thanks and pressed my hand. I am more than ever convinced that man was made to command, and woman to obey, and that the rule in that good old fashioned book is right, "wives reverence your husbands—husbands love your wives."

Tuesday, October 1st. 

Frank is so much better, that he not only eats broth, but chicken and eggs. I believe, he would eat six meals a day, if we would carry them to him. But I think he is growing a little more rational. Pauline came to me the other day, very much grieved at herself for carrying the broth to her father. He had begged her to ask Phebe up, when mother and I were away, enjoining the strictest secrecy upon her, and the poor child knew not what to do. I comforted her with the thought that no harm had come of it, and she would know better next time.

Frank sits up almost all day, and we are beginning to feel a little settled. School lessons are vigorously learned, Pauline having been duly installed in my place as teacher. I have as much as I can do to take care of my patient, who is, however, rather impatient sometimes, if I am long out of the room.

If I leave him with mother, I have to set the exact time that I will return, and give him the watch to mark the minutes. Though often inconvenient, yet it is delightful to have him longing for me to be with him. I would not for worlds have it otherwise.

Monday, October 7th. 

I have some wonderful news for you, dear mother. It is our present intention to leave America just as soon as the Doctor is able, spend the winter and spring in the south of France, and return home by way of England.

We should not be able to do this, if it were not for our kind friend and physician, Dr. Clapp. I love him as a dear brother, and there is a most delightful intercourse between our families. I have not time to tell you how this plan came about so quickly; only to say that it is nothing new to the Doctor; but he has been keeping it to himself. Mother will spend, at least, part of the winter with Emily, and Ann will go with her. Cæsar and Phebe will remain here. Ruth is to accompany us with all the children.

Thursday, October 7th. 

We hope to leave in the "Unicorn" which sails the twenty-fifth of this month. The Doctor has rode out once, and it did him great good. Pauline is much pleased with the prospect of visiting Europe, while Nelly and Frank are perfectly wild with delight. We may meet Joseph Morgan, who has been in business in France for two years or more.

Friday, October 11th. 

I have but a moment to tell you that preparations are going on briskly. Emily Benson has come over from the parsonage and is very efficient assistance. She thinks of everything. Mr. Benson lost nothing by waiting five years for her. She has developed into a splendid woman, and is universally beloved in the parish. "Her husband also and he praiseth her."

Though every moment is precious, yet I cannot refrain from repenting a remark of our good friend, Mrs. Marshall, wife of the Attorney General, in relation to our dear sister. She said, "Mr. Benson's family reminds me of Cowper's description of his friends, the Unwins, 'Go when I will, I find a house full of peace and cordiality in all its parts and am sure to hear no scandal, but such discourse instead of it, as we are all the better for.'"

You would laugh if you could see the quantity of baggage master Franky has collected for the journey, and which he has no doubt aunt Emily will be able to get into his trunks. This moving a whole family for an absence of nine months, which is probably the length of time we shall be away from home, is no trifling matter.

Mother insists that I shall not trouble myself with a thought about home arrangements. She will attend to everything here. My dear husband gains a little every day, and I think would gain faster if it were not for his anxiety to do more than he is able. He has been so long accustomed to take care of all of us, that he can hardly restrain himself until he is overcome with fatigue.

Wednesday, October 23rd. 

Dear mother, our trunks are packed, and we are on the eve of departure. To-morrow morning we leave for New York, and are to sail on Thursday.

A day or two since the Doctor received a champagne-basket full, not of wine, but of London porter, from his grateful patient, Lucy Mansfield. This we are to take with us, and Frank has already received benefit from it. With love to all the dear ones at home, I must bid you farewell. I intend to take my journal with me to New York and mail it from thence.